One Last Dance
by Emperor of Aces
Summary: Slick encounters a very special Felt member at a party in which both gangs are at a truce. She asks him to dance, and he reluctantly complies…(English Family AU)


Spades Slick hated parties, but he especially hated parties thrown on neutral grounds. The lavish ordeal was being put on by an associate of his, and Slick had attended solely out of politeness. The guy had helped Slick's gang transport contraband on numerous occasions, so the Dersite mobster felt he at least owed the man for that. The catch was, however, said associate didn't have any particular loyalties. If you had the cash, he'd help you with the job, regardless of whether your gang liked to play cards or shoot pool.

Slick had already passed one of the green, time-traveling freaks in the lounge earlier that night – Quarters, who gave Slick a respectful, but not entirely friendly, nod of recognition – and he had no clue how many more there were. The thought of being in the same vicinity as the Felt made him antsy, and the fact that he had to remain civil to them made him feel physically ill. Guys like Quarters he could handle off the job, but his innards were swimming over the possibility of meeting up with the likes of Snowman or Crowbar. It was an enormous party, and that factor alone narrowed Slick's chances of encountering the rest of the Felt, but he couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. Perhaps he was fretting over nothing, but he had a bad habit of being right.

Slick grunted to himself then took another sip of his whiskey, hoping the booze would help him banish his uncomfortable thoughts. Resting his head on the heel of his hand, Slick stared blankly from his seat at the people dancing in the center of the dance hall. He caught the occasional glimpse of Deuce and his broad, Ms. Paint, jiving it to the music amidst the other black and white patrons, but he failed to catch sight of anything green. Good. He hoped it would stay that way, at least until Droog returned from the restroom or Boxcars from the bar.

When all that was left of his drink was a lonely assembly of ice, Slick allowed himself the luxury of getting lost to the kind of boredom fastened of blank thoughts and stares. He let the drone of chatting voices, swinging jazz, and clinking glassware sweep over him and lull him into an open-eyed sleep. He was unable to enjoy his daydreams for long, however, for he was soon roused from them by a finger that delicately tapped his padded shoulder. Slick turned, expecting Boxcars or Droog, but instead found himself scowling at an unpleasantly familiar fellow accompanied by a tall, bony, and equally as verdant woman he didn't know.

So much for a Felt-free night.

Slick crossed his arms. His eyes narrowed to angry slits. "The fuck do you want? Shouldn't you be off getting your ass plundered by that speedy kid?"

The woman frowned and arched a hairless brow before giving her companion a worried glance.

Her counterpart, however, did not take visible offense to Slick's comment, and instead allowed a merry smile to cut into his dimpled cheeks. "My, my, Mr. Spades, is that really any way to speak to a fellow who comes to you tonight merely as another partygoer, rather than as a member of the opposing faction? I mean, even look at my clothes! Do you see any trace of my gang's color?"

He was squeezed into a grey pinstripe suit with matching pants. His black tie stood out against his light-grey undershirt, and a silver pocket watch was strung across the length of his rounded stomach. The shoes on his feet were polished and black, and even his top hat – typically blue – was dark and colorless.

Slick leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. Slick couldn't guess what Doze wanted, but he did know how much the man hated him. At least the feeling was mutual. "Yeah, so what? You're all dressed in grey, big deal. You obviously want something, so get on with it, or get out of here. Your choice."

Slick felt sweltering in his suit, with sweat prickling down his forehead and back. He didn't fear Doze by any means – it was hard to be terrified by a man who looked like a mint marshmallow – but he was not in the mood for dealing with Doze's shit tonight. All he wanted to do was get this party over with and go home.

"I don't want anything to do with you, Mr. Spades." Doze slipped an arm around the woman's waist and drew her closer.

She smiled shyly and waved at Slick with only her fingers.

"This," Doze continued, "is Calliope, my boss's daughter."

"That fucker has a kid?" Slick furrowed his brow.

"Two of them, actually." Doze coughed into his fist and glanced sideways towards the entrance of the lounge. "She has a twin brother, Caliborn, but he's off with Itchy playing poker. Let's just say, I hope that is where he shall remain for the rest of tonight's event."

"Indeed, my brother isn't exactly the most pleasant of sorts." The girl, Calliope, finally spoke. Her voice was soft, musical. Tinged with an accent Slick couldn't quite place. It contrasted harshly with her face, which Slick found to be a rather unfortunate assembly of jutting bones and thin, verdant skin. "Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spades Slick."

She smiled at him, but the rows of fangs protruding from her mouth kept the expression from being pleasant.

"Eh, can't say I feel the same, but at least you seem better than your father. Now, what the fuck do you people want?"

Doze touched a pudgy hand to the small of Calliope's back and urged her towards Slick. "Go on, dear. Ask him your question."

She held her hand out to him, the spirals on her cheeks flushing a deeper green. Her nails were curved claws and her knuckles knobby. "I was hoping I'd have the honor of dancing with my father's rival while we're having this nightly truce." She allowed her eyelids to lower halfway, her long lashes casting feathery shadows across her cheeks. "That is, if you would accept my invitation, of course."

Slick's lips peeled back from his fangs. "Look, kid, I ain't into that dancing bullshit. Go find someone el– "

"Hey, Slick, that ain't how you treat a lady!" Boxcars appeared besides Slick and placed a heavy hand on the seated Dersite's shoulder. "Even if she is a member of the Felt, we're all supposed to be nice here, so there ain't no reason why you can't dance."

"Ah, why, thank you Mr. Hearts." Doze tipped his black top hat and shot Slick a devilish grin. "It's refreshing to know that someone around here has some class."

"You're welcome, but don't go thinking I'm a fan of you or something, 'cause I ain't, but Slick's just being a big party pooper. And, besides," he turned to Calliope, "you ain't half bad looking, little lady, even if you are English's kid." He offered her a smile and a wink, which caused her to giggle and flush. "As for you," he hoisted Slick out of his seat by the armpits and deposited him on the floor, "go out there and dance with that girl this instant."

Slick didn't want to do it, but now it came down to whether he wanted to suffer through ten minutes of dancing with English's daughter, or an hour of Boxcars' angry, romantic lecturing. There was no painless option, but the dancing would be over much quicker.

"Fine. Fine." He slipped his hand into Calliope's. Her skin was surprisingly soft. "I'll dance with you. But only for one song, that's it."

Calliope's emerald eyes lit up when he took her hand. "Oh my, Mr. Slick, you have my sincerest gratitude."

"Save it, kid." He began weaving through the maze of tables towards the dance floor with Calliope in tow. "I ain't doing this because I like you, I'm doing it because if I don't, my friend back there won't shut up. So just save it."

After that she kept quiet, but a smile remained smeared across her face. Despite Slick's words, she seemed ecstatic just to be with him. Women. Slick would never understand them.

Slick's polished heels clicked onto the hard surface of the dance floor just as the band struck up a slow, swinging waltz. Good. At least he wouldn't have to do anything strenuous while dancing with this kid. Anyone could sway along to this slow stuff without making themself look foolish.

With one hand on her narrow waist and the other linked with hers, Slick began his leisurely dance with Calliope. It wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. She turned when he turned, stepped where she needed to step, moved gracefully in time with the sway of the music. They glided together across the dance floor as though they were a real couple and, although Slick remained filled with his typical animosity, he could not deny that she was a decent dancer. She might not have been a looker, but, dang, the kid could waltz.

When the music finally trickled to a closing, Slick halted and lifted her perfumed hand to his lips. Though the kiss lacked any warmth, he felt she deserved it as a token of his thanks for not making his night entirely miserable.

He let her hand drop, then grinned lopsidedly. "You ain't half-bad, kid." Slick jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating his table. "I'm gonna head back to my seat now. Hope you enjoyed the dance for what it was worth."

The band started up again, this time with a song that was fast and lively, frenzied even. Swing with a bebop twist. Before he could leave, Slick's wrist was snatched up by bony fingers.

"Hey, kid, I said just one d—oof!" He was pulled roughly against her chest, his cheek pressing painfully into the string of pearls draped around her neck.

"But, Mr. Slick, just listen to this song!" There was a devious hint to her cheery tone. "Wouldn't it just be lovely if we had one last dance? Especially if I'm really 'not half-bad', hm?"

Slick tried to push away, but she drew him right back into her hard sternum. "Uf, no."

"Oh, nonsense, you know you loved it." She lifted him up by the waist and twirled, her yellow sundress billowing out around her as she spun.

Slick could feel the sour heat of his whiskey surging up to say hello. "Kid. Fucking. Stop. Let me go, I'm going to – ow, oh, ack!"

Calliope pulverized both his big toes beneath her shoes in a one-two combo that was too perfectly executed for it to have been unintentional. At the sound of his agonized grunting, her thin lips curled into a sly, toothy smile. "Oopsie."

Slick made another attempt at struggling out of her grasp, but she was a head taller and a great deal stronger than the Dersite mobster. It seemed he had judged her too early. She was just as bad as the rest of the Felt, possibly even worse. There was no escaping from this bizarre woman who seemed intent on spinning him in time to the crazy music until he was ready to pass out. If not for all the sickening swirls of light and colors flashing before his eyes, Slick might have done so already.

Stumbling over his own feet, Slick was powerfully shoved away and for a moment found himself staring into Calliope's large eyes, sparkling with girlish mischief, only to be yanked back with a force so strong he though his arms would be pulled from their sockets. His lips met hers with a crashing impact, and before he could protest, she slipped her forked tongue past his threshold. Silky and nimble, she swept her tongue over his, tasting him in refined and careful motions. With a contented sigh, she gently nipped at his lips, still tinged with the sharp flavor of whiskey.

Slick's white eyes goggled and his entire body tensed up with shock and disgust. It didn't matter that she kissed with graceful skill – not sloppy at all; a little rough, but Slick liked it rough – or that her lips tasted of sugary gloss, or that her breath was scented with vanilla. No amount of subtle attractiveness could change the pinnacle of all horrors: He was kissing Lord English's daughter.

When Calliope broke the kiss, Slick barely had time to gasp for air before he was violently shoved backwards to the sound of Calliope's giggling. Without her arms to hold onto, Slick struggled to gain purchase on the floor as he stumbled backwards, arms pinwheeling as he fought for balance. He lost his battle, however, when his heel came down on a half-melted ice cube that sent him sprawling ass-first into the confection table.

Slick landed in the punch bowl with a pink, colossal splash that sent the entire table into a state of catastrophic and sticky disarray. The table flipped forward under his weight, further dousing him in pink juice and adding cookies, cupcakes, and other crumbly sweetmeats to the mix. The tablecloth, now streaked with stains, ended up tangled about his shoulders and limbs. His suit was soaked through to his skin.

There was an interval of shocked silence as the music came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the commotion. The crowd stared at the mess for a moment, and then a chorus of agitated voices erupted, some calling for a cleaner, others chastising that 'horrible man' for being so rough with that poor girl.

Slick could only lean back with a soupy plop and groan as his bruises made themselves known. 'Poor girl' his ass.

He closed his eyes, waiting for someone to come over and force him to get up, but his moment of exhausted solace was interrupted by the scent of menthol cigarettes. God dammit. There was only one asshole he knew who smoked menthol.

Slick opened his weary eyes to see the great catalyst of the whole fiasco in all his grey-suited glory. He had a smug smile on his face and a smoldering cigarette in one hand.

"Let me tell you a little bit about Cherubs," Doze said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Unlike your species and mine, they have a rather, ah, interesting method of courtship. It is always tempestuous and often quite violent in its nature." Doze snickered and gave his smoke a tap, letting snowy ash drift down onto Slick's sopping suit. "Needless to say, I think she likes you."

Slick lifted his head a fraction and grimaced as pain lanced through his stiff neck. "You don't say?"

"Oh, but I _do_ say." Another idle puff followed by a glance at his pocket watch. "Goodness, me. Look at the time! It seems that I must make my departure. Mustn't let my master's children stay out too late, oh no, no, no. Good day to you, Mr. Spades."

He pivoted on his heel and sauntered off into the crowd, leaving a ribbon of smoke and a fuming Spades Slick in his wake.


End file.
